by Carrie Doyle
“I’m going home,” said Antonia.
“Antonia, I can’t let you do that,” said Genevieve. “I’m sorry to say, but you act like an old lady. A grandmother. I would say my grandmother but that would be a lie. My grandmother has a raging social life. She’s got Bingo, she’s got shuffleboard, she’s got bridge, she’s got movie night. I swear, it’s probably all a sex fest down there in Florida.”
“I’m very happy for her,” said Antonia, steering the car back on to Route 27. “But your grandmother, bless her soul, doesn’t run an inn. She doesn’t have to wake up early, cook breakfast for twenty people, check on houses, cook dinner for fifty, seventy people. She has time to relax.”
Genevieve breathed out of her nose as if she was exhaling a cigarette. She shifted in her leather seat and paused several minutes before speaking.
“Antonia,” continued Genevieve softly. “You’re a hot chick. I mean, sure, we both know the way you dress sucks. You have some nice titties but you keep them camouflaged like they’re hand grenades.”
“Thanks,” said Antonia sarcastically. She slowed down at the red light. The post office was on her far left, locked tightly for the night.
“Look, don’t kill the messenger. I’m your friend. I truly want what’s best for you.”
“Uh huh.”
Antonia pressed on the accelerator when the light changed.
“And what I want for you, above and beyond all else, is…for you to get laid.”
Despite herself, Antonia couldn’t resist bursting into laughter. “That’s what you want for me above all else?”
“Above all else,” said Genevieve solemnly.
“How very noble of you.”
“So come on, I want to get laid, you want to get laid, so let’s go to Fresno.”
Antonia sighed. There was no point in arguing. One drink and a quick bite wouldn’t kill her, and could possibly give her mind a break so she could process everything.
She made a right on Newtown Lane then cruised down past the store fronts and hung left at the railroad station. After a few short turns, she drove down the road where the restaurant was located.
Fresno appealed to both locals and regulars, and was one of the few restaurants that remained open year round, with a steady clientele. There was an outside patio, an indoor dining room with hardwood floors and wooden rafters along the ceiling, as well as a large mirrored zinc bar that was usually buzzing with customers.
As soon as they entered, Genevieve emitted an enthusiastic squeal. “There’s Carl!”
Antonia had to hand it to Genevieve. She was not shy about going after what she wanted.
Carl was seated at the end of the bar talking with Cathy, the bartender, who Antonia would run into often at the library during the day. She was the type of woman that men loved: effervescent, athletic, strawberry blonde, with milk and honey skin. She generated a lot of tips, but even more come-ons. A quick glance made it apparent Carl was not immune to her charm. Upon hearing Genevieve shriek his name, he glanced up and for a flash second Antonia could swear that he grimaced. But then just as quickly, his face broke into a warm smile.
“Did you miss me?” asked Genevieve, wrapping her arms around him and planting a kiss on his neck.
“Absolutely,” said Carl.
“Did you eat?”
“No, I was waiting for you.”
“You’re sweet.”
Genevieve gave him a long kiss on the lips.
What is it with people necking at bars tonight? thought Antonia grimly.
“Hi, Antonia,” said Carl, after Genevieve had pulled away. “How was your quest to find the cameraman?”
“We got to see some of the documentary but apparently, the juicy part is missing,” Genevieve interrupted before she could respond.
“Oh?” asked Carl. “What’s the juicy part?”
“We don’t know,” said Genevieve, climbing aboard a barstool. “But maybe Warner was right, this movie would have been a big hit. There’s all sorts of scandal and intrigue around it.”
“He definitely tapped into a topic people are interested in,” added Antonia.
Carl appeared pensive before speaking. “You two are playing it safe, right?”
“Of course,” said Genevieve.
“No, I mean, seriously,” said Carl. He spread his fingers on the bar and pressed them. Antonia noticed he did this when he was thinking. “I just want you to be careful. If this documentary was the reason Warner was killed then that means a killer is looking for the footage. That is serious.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Genevieve, seriously. Sometimes the clichés are right: it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.”
“No one’s getting hurt, silly,” said Genevieve.
“We’ll be careful,” Antonia said firmly.
“You are so cute when you are over-protective,” squealed Genevieve. She gave Carl another kiss. Antonia was regretting her decision to accompany Genevieve and play the role of third wheel, so she excused herself to go to the ladies room. She splashed water on her face and stared hard at herself in the mirror. A tired and stressed face returned her gaze. This is what they call burning the candle at both ends, she realized. Everything over the past two days was catching up with her and it showed. She’d wait a little while in the bathroom to use the time to send Joseph a quick email regarding Pauline Framingham before she would slip out of the restaurant with a wave to Genevieve.
When Antonia exited the ladies room she was relieved to see Carl and Genevieve in deep conversation. She was about to wave goodbye when suddenly a voice next to her interrupted her thoughts.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Antonia glanced to her right and was stunned to see Sam, the hot chef from the previous evening, sitting at a table. He had shaved since yesterday, revealing smooth, clean skin. He looked fresh and Antonia instantly felt slobby and caught off guard, at the same time angry with herself for feeling that way.
“Sure,” said Antonia. “What a small world.”
“That’s what they say about this town. Come sit down, I just got here.”
While Sam motioned for the waitress and ordered drinks, Antonia found herself examining him carefully. He was young and strong, that was for sure. The type of guy who could hoist her over his shoulders and carry her out of a burning building, if the need ever arose. Antonia stole a look at his hands. Was he wearing a wedding ring? The answer was no. When she raised her eyes, she realized that he had busted her.
“Sorry, just looking to see what time it was,” lied Antonia. “Do you have a watch?”
Sam smiled and touched his left wrist. “I forgot it tonight. Why? Do you need to be somewhere?”
“No, just wondering. Thanks.”
Antonia reddened with embarrassment. Great, real smooth, Antonia.
“I’m glad I got a chance to run into you again. I felt like a bit of a doofus going on and on about you last night,” said Sam. “Remind me not to drink on an empty stomach.”
“Oh, don’t be crazy. I love compliments.”
Sam smiled, and Antonia felt her cheeks reddening again.
“Are you from East Hampton?”
Antonia shook her head. “No. California. What about you?”
“California? Whereabouts?”
“Kind of in the middle, but more north than south,” she said quickly. “What about you?”
“I’m from Boulder.”
“Rocky Mountain man,” said Antonia.
“Born and raised.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Every day,” said Sam.
The waitress came with their drinks and they suspended conversation. Antonia felt like it had never taken anyone as long to place cocktail napkins on the table. When she finally left, Sam continued.
&n
bsp; “I like the energy of New York, I love the city. I totally bought into all that. But in my heart of hearts, I’m a country boy. I like to fish, camp, hunt. Outdoorsy stuff. I know I’ll end up back there with a bunch of kids and a pickup truck.”
For some reason Antonia felt jealousy curling inside of her. And that was the last thing she wanted.
“Oh, are you engaged?”
“Naw. I’m coming off of a bad break up,” he confessed. “You ladies just destroy me.”
“Hey, don’t group me in that,” said Antonia. “I do not destroy anyone.”
Sam smiled at her but didn’t say anything. Antonia looked away. She started fiddling with the diamond stud in her ear and despite herself became self-conscious about her outfit. Genevieve was right: she did dress like a dowdy old lady. She was wearing a blue peasant skirt and a red V-neck cashmere sweater with a paisley scarf wrapped several times around her neck. She could have at least accessorized. Note to self: make an effort.
“So were you a bad boyfriend?” she said finally. She casually unwound the scarf from her neck. Her sweater was V-neck, so at least she could show off some cleavage. “Is this something I should know about you?”
“What? Hell, no,” insisted Sam. He leaned back. He was large, yet graceful, in complete control of his body. There were rumblings of cocky swagger underneath but it only made him more appealing. “I was used, abused, and excused. She had no mercy.”
“Well, maybe you had no mercy,” teased Antonia, somehow emboldened.
“Me?” said Sam. He leaned back towards the bar. “Not possible.”
“Not possible? Maybe you’re a jerk.”
Sam stared at her with mock horror. “I am the best boyfriend a girl could ever have.”
“Oh really,” said Antonia sarcastically.
“I swear to God,” said Sam. “Scout’s honor.”
“Were you even a scout?”
“I was,” said Sam.
“Well done then.”
“Thank you.”
“So, why’d the girlfriend leave?”
Sam leaned back in his chair. “She ditched me for another guy. A prepster.”
“Despite your being ‘the best boyfriend in the world?’”
Sam laughed heartily. “Touché. Maybe I was just too good.”
“Maybe,” said Antonia with disbelief.
“You don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I believe you,” said Antonia with a smile. “You brought her roses every day, drew a bath for her at night, cooked her gourmet meals…”
Sam paused and stared at Antonia. “Is that really your idea of the best boyfriend in the world?”
The conversation was now straddling that fuzzy line of flirtatious and serious. “I guess not, no. Sounds a bit…”
“Pussy?”
“For lack of a better word,” nodded Antonia.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t do roses,” said Sam with a thoughtful sigh. “Roses are too obvious. For someone like you I’d pick…”
Sam turned and stared at Antonia appraisingly. She waited in anticipation.
“Peonies,” he said finally.
Antonia felt her stomach drop. She loved peonies. They were her number one favorite.
“Did I get that right?” he asked.
“Good choice,” she said casually.
He cocked his head to the side and stared at her again. “And I wouldn’t cook you gourmet meals. I’d make you something fried with a lot of butter.”
Antonia laughed. “I led you to that one. Okay, so what about the bath?”
Sam nodded to himself. “See, I actually think that one you’d like. You seem like a bath person. So yes, probably I’d draw you a bath.”
“You know me so well already,” said Antonia, attempting humor to hide the fact that it was true.
“I’m pretty good, aren’t I?”
“You are,” she said.
“I bet I can guess your knives.”
Antonia raised her eyebrows. The knives that a chef uses are very personal and can reveal a lot about that chef’s process. “Okay.”
“Misono.”
Antonia swallowed. “Correct. But perhaps that was too obvious…”
Sam shrugged. “I got it right, didn’t I?”
“Yes…” she admitted. “And yours are?”
“Wusthof.”
“Aha, should have known.”
“Why should you have known?” he laughed.
“You’re a big guy. I don’t see you with Japanese knives. German makes sense.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Sam nodding.
“As well you should.”
Genevieve abruptly stopped on her way to the ladies room, noticing Sam and Antonia for the first time. She gave Antonia a sly glance before greeting Sam.
“I didn’t see you here,” said Genevieve. “What a coincidence!”
“I know. How about that?” asked Sam.
Antonia watched as they made brief small talk. Genevieve thought she was extremely subtle yet in three seconds flat she asked him if he was married and how long he would stay in town, smiling at Antonia when she was pleased by his answers.
“Alright, I’ll let you two finish your drinks,” she said as she began to depart. “Antonia hasn’t had dinner yet so you could also order some food.”
Antonia shot her a withering look but Sam appeared amused. “We can do that.”
There was an awkward pause when she left. Antonia was embarrassed by Genevieve’s blatant matchmaking. At a loss for words, she was relieved when Sam suddenly spoke.
“Hey, did you hear about the dead body they found yesterday?”
“Am I aware of it? I found it!”
“No way!” said Sam with astonishment. He slapped his palms on the table. “You’re kidding right?”
“I wish I was.”
Sam cocked his head and gave her a sidelong glance. “For real?”
“For real.”
“What the hell happened?”
Antonia filled him in on Warner until the waitress came to take their food order. Then she moved the conversation away from murder towards more pleasant topics like favorite recipes, travel destinations and movies. Antonia felt herself relax. She sat back in her seat, cabernet flowing through her veins, and stared into Sam’s sparkling eyes imagining what it would be like to see him naked. Stranger things had happened.
After Sam paid the check he escorted Antonia towards the door.
“This was a lot of fun,” he said.
“Yes, thank you again for dinner. It was so nice of you to treat.”
“It was an honor.”
Antonia lingered for a second by the front door. “Well, goodnight.”
“To you too. Oh, and I hope you don’t find any more bodies.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“By the way, do they have any leads? Was it murder?”
Antonia shook her head. “I know nothing.”
Sam smiled. “Yeah, well, doesn’t matter.”
Sam held the door for her and then walked her to her car before getting in his own. Antonia turned and put her car in reverse when she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw Cathy, the bartender, come running out the door of the restaurant, waving at her. Antonia hit the brakes.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you leave. The guy who was at the bar earlier asked me to give this to you,” Cathy said, handing Antonia a piece of paper. “He was insistent.”
“Carl? The guy who Genevieve was with?”
Cathy shook her head. “No, the guy who was sitting alone in the corner. Didn’t you see him?”
Antonia felt the color drain from her face. “No, what did he look like?”
“He was wearing a suit. Dark hair.”
“
Is he still there?”
“No, he was only there fifteen minutes. He was staring at you the whole time. You, my friend, are a popular lady. But I have to say, I’d go with Sam. He seems much friendlier.”
“Thanks, Cathy.”
“You betcha.”
Antonia took the piece of paper from her and unfolded it. The handwriting was scribbly but clear.
We are very eager to do business with you. We’re increasing our offer to $100,000.
11
THURSDAY
By the time the sun peeked out on the horizon and unfurled its light across East Hampton, the fragrant smell of coffee was already wafting its way through the kitchen and dining room of the inn. As was their routine, Antonia and Soyla had risen early to prepare the buffet breakfast for the inn guests. (Antonia used to have an intern Liz who helped out in the morning, but she had gone back to culinary school so Antonia had asked Soyla to take over her duties.) Antonia had made a batch of cheddar chive muffins and a golden almond coffee cake filled with thick chunks of apricot. Soyla plated fresh bagels, salmon and cream cheese. The scent of cinnamon and sugar hung thickly in the air.
Antonia was in the mudroom off the kitchen and had just removed her apron to head out to the beach for her walk when Soyla told her that there was someone asking for her in the dining room. Antonia was prepared to find the lawyer, but it was not him.
Instead, a thin, tall man in his late fifties with faded reddish hair that was turning white, pale skin and cool blue eyes awaited her. He wore a forest green windbreaker with a club logo on the pocket, chinos and penny loafers. He raised his chin as she approached and with a mixture of sadness and dread, Antonia knew at once who he was.
“I’m Townsend Caruthers, Warner’s father,” he said, stretching out his hand.
